


Stalemate (two truths and a lie)

by Myulalie



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Falling In Love, Femslash February, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myulalie/pseuds/Myulalie
Summary: “Is that your real name?” the stranger slurs, blond hair covering half of her face.“Why would I lie to you?”“Ireland,” her roommate repeats, scoffing. “I’m Camille Belcourt.”Camille and her dorm mate don't get along, at first. They spend a year together, and like fall leaves and snowflakes, they find common ground in mutual respect, and being true to oneself.
Relationships: Camille Belcourt/Seelie Queen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Stalemate (two truths and a lie)

**Author's Note:**

> **Two truths and a lie:**  
>  My favorite character is Raphael Santiago  
> I have the whole series on my bookshelf  
> I have never seen an episode of Shadowhunters
> 
> _Credits_
>
>> Red stain on white wall @etiennegirardet  
> Woman drinking wine @lucidistortephoto  
> Flower grown girls wearing denim jackets @beccatapert  
> Woman with blue lipstich @emery_meyer  
> Winter Bridal bouquet @notebookalison  
>  **on Unsplash**

_Summer._  
It’s a stalemate. Ireland won’t stop staring, but her roommate is glaring still and they face each other in the cramped room, cardboard boxes pilled up around them like towers. Bumping her shoulder into one would send the pile tumbling, but she’s careful as she shoves her hands down the back pockets of her shorts. Ireland’s ginger hair is pilled up on her head in messy space buns and neon blue-green lipstick flashes when she smiles. The other woman crosses her arms and the boxes wobble.

“Is that your real name?” the stranger slurs, blond hair covering half of her face.

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Ireland,” her roommate repeats, scoffing. “I’m Camille Belcourt.” 

And it’s obvious she’s French. Her voice softens on her name, the tilt of English disappearing instantly from her blood red lips. Ireland schools her features and spins around to finally settle on her side of the dorm room, pinning fairy lights above her desk and bed. She arranges flowers on the window sill, and curls up on her hand-knitted comforter when she’s done. 

Camille has not been idle, but her side of the room lacks a personal touch. There is nothing telling about the white sheets and dusty pink comforter on her bed. The books she aligned on her shelves carefully are all related to her major, history, and it looks like she could pack everything in only a few minutes. Ireland pulls at a loose thread on her sleeve, hugging her jacket close to her chest as she does so. She can’t find Camille’s truth at first glance, and it puts her on edge.

 _Fall._  
Soon enough, it’s a common sight. Camille, standing near her desk, flipping through books or sitting as she does her nails, scrolling on her phone or examining her closet as she decides what to wear. And Ireland lounges on her bed, picking at a bowl of fruits or drawing in ever filling journals. Their shared space knows little else than silence, and Camille’s voice is sharp when she breaks it.

“What do you study again?”

“Microbiology,” Ireland cuts in at the other woman’s sneer. “Why must you dismiss everything about me? Open your mind.” 

Camille doesn’t reply. She hovers in the room, scantily clad in black lace and uncaring, Edith Piaf playing from her computer. Ireland lets her hair loose on lazy days and sits on the window sill, smoke curling around her neck from a cup of tea cooling down between her feet and a slightly weedy, piney scent lingering in the air. 

Meliorn takes a liking to Ireland’s dorm room after a photo shoot in Central Park. She curls up on her bed after letting them in and they huddle at her desk to look over the pictures. Meliorn has already selected their favorites. 

They are looking through Ireland’s journals when Camille walks out of the bathroom in a silk gown, tosses her champagne stilettos on her pillow and sprawls on her bed. Ireland doesn’t mind her, but Meliorn decides it is their cue to leave. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Camille drawls before the door clicks shut.

“They don’t want to intrude.”

The French woman frowns and opens her mouth to reply, pink tongue running over coral lips. Her gown dives down her breasts and dips between her legs, revealing porcelain thighs. Ireland looks at her in the eye, staring Camille into silence.

“Don’t be disrespectful.” 

Camille clamps her mouth shut and looks away. The redhead busies herself with the flowers on the windowsill and goes back to her journals, sketching hills and empty roads signed Ireland Murray. Edith Piaf plays in the background and her fairy lights flicker with each star blinking awake in the night sky. 

_Winter._  
With the cold comes wine and Camille heats it up with spices, dipping honey into steaming mugs. Ireland leans over her shoulder, and shrugs when the other woman offers her a drink, sipping the sweet and spicy beverage. Charles Aznavour’s voice dances around the room and Ireland hums to herself long after Camille has left with Magnus Bane. 

They don’t get along. Ireland cannot stand the man, and he despises her. There is something about him that irks her, because he should know better, but he wallows in nonsense. She supposes he loathes that she reminds him that the meaning of life may be a mystery, but it doesn’t make it any less meaningful. 

Ireland curls on on the window sill and watches as fairy lights blink to life on the glass, electronic music playing in the background. She loves the artificial depths of music when it washes over her, and the swell takes her away in gentle waves of synthesized harmonies soaring through the speakers.

Camille comes back drunk, a regular occurrence after going out with Magnus. Ireland is not sure what exactly is going on between them because surely they know they’re not good for each other. But both of them love drama and the lie they live in. The way Camille stumbles into the dorm room, holding onto the door for dear life, screams gossip material. 

Ireland sighs and pulls her up, sliding an arm around the other woman’s slim waist and helping her to the bed. Camille doesn’t thank her, but Ireland unzips the back of the blonde’s dress anyway and pushes strands of hair out of the history major’s face to check that Camille hasn’t thrown up. The French woman’s lipstick looks pristine and she mumbles to herself in her native language. Ireland leans forward when Camille switches back to English.

“Magnus likes to wear lipstick.”

“So?” 

Camille frowns at Ireland’s lack of reaction, and presses her fingers to her lips, deep in thought. Ireland can’t see the color and hopes it won’t stain the sheets during the night when the other woman finally lets go, drifting off to sleep.

Magnus breaks up with Camille on one fateful party soon after, and Ireland finds something in common with the blonde. They agree on one thing: Magnus Bane insists on trying to be someone he’s obviously not. He’s too open-hearted to be with the likes of Camille, and needs much more love and affection than he’s willing to admit. It’s for the best, Ireland can’t help but think.

If she gets to spend all night talking with Camille about life — and winter nights are long —, then it’s even better. Ireland has a lot to share with Camille, from being true to herself to the meaning of some things, and how meaningless some others are.

 _Spring._  
Camille leaves the dorm room with a hat throwing shadows on her face. It reminds Ireland of lingering thoughts, the ones she has seen reflected in the blonde’s eyes lately. She hopes to replace them with sparks of joy, and crown Camille with flowers instead. The blonde would look breath-taking in those, Ireland muses.

They hang out outside of the dorm rooms when the sun shines after their respective classes. Camille sits on a tablecloth, not willing to dirty her fancy clothes, and Ireland focuses on making said crown, threading one daisy into the other to make a chain. The white flowers look fragile, nothing like the girl next to her, but Ireland believes Camille could handle such a thing, if she was willing to.

The grass is green and brushes the back of Ireland’s hands in soft caresses when she ties the stem of buttercup flowers to the crown. She basks in the warm breeze that drifts past the space buns on her head, ginger strands of hair flying around her face, and Camille swears next to Ireland.

“Why do you stay here with me if you hate it so much?”

Camille doesn’t reply. Ireland peers at her, fastening the last stem of the flower crown. The blonde snaps her history book shut and shrugs, but makes no move to leave. It speaks more words than Camille ever could, and Ireland smiles to herself, offering the flowers to the girl she fell in love with.

“Some things are meant to be,” Ireland can’t help but tease her.

The blonde scoffs, but accepts the gift. Camille bows her head to allow Ireland to place the crown in her hair, and even gives a smile, too sharp, when they lock eyes. Ireland leans in like the wind, and brushes their lips together — blood red and fluorescent teal —. Camille kisses back like the bite of ice and the burning cold of frostbites, but Ireland would have nothing else than this, Camille’s true nature and the dangerous beauty of it.

**Author's Note:**

>  **I take prompts!** Follow me [on tumblr](https://myulalie.tumblr.com/post/637141364802469888/string-of-pearls-and-prompts) and get in touch, my ask box is open ♥
> 
>  **On feedback:**  
>  “<3” as extra kudos are fine by me. Short comments give me just as much of an adrenaline rush as longer comments because my email notifications don’t discriminate! I give as long as I get (*coughs* read: I reply at length) so you decide if we’re having a quickie in the comments or if you’re taking me out on a date to have an actual conversation ;)
> 
>  _Constructive criticism is welcome_. Please bear in mind that while I will take it into account, I will not rewrite a story that has already been published. I’d rather incorporate relevant feedback (read: concrete examples and suggestions as to how to address the element in question) into a new work and write a different take on the same plot! Once again, I give as good as I get ;)
> 
>  _You are not, by any means, required to comment if you don’t want to_. I will publish every chapter of a complete story no matter the response to it. Find some more thoughts and tips on commenting [on my tumblr](https://myulalie.tumblr.com/tagged/commenting), I make moodboards for my fics too, if you want to follow me :D Happy reading ♥


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